


A Quiche-tionable Series of Events

by Comma_Kaze



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur POV (kind of), Arthur is investigating, Comedy, Episode: s02e03 Ipswich, Gen, Ipswich, Martin's situation is a sad one, Mystery, Quiche, Until it isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comma_Kaze/pseuds/Comma_Kaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starving stewards, swollen stomachs and surprising spaghetti. Who knows what dark mysteries Martin is hiding, and what does any of it have to do with quiche? Fortunately, Arthur is there to unravel the sinister plot that threatens his Skipper.</p><p>Unless he makes everything worse with his 'help'...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiche-tionable Series of Events

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jbs_teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbs_teeth/gifts).



> Beta-mine asked for quiche-fic, and so she got quiche-fic. Oddly serious quiche-fic, considering the topic.
> 
> This starts somewhere between Ipswich and Limerick and ends with an alternate ending to the series. (Probably. Depends on how Finnemore resolves that FREAKING CLIFF-HANGER.)
> 
> Beta work (and summary) by the wonderful JBS-Teeth!

Arthur tries to grin and—a rarity for him—fails. They’re finally on their way back from Istanbul, having delivered the not-exactly-cheerful Mr. Katirci safely (more or less, though maybe a little more less than more; really, there had only been a _few_ bumps on the take-off, and the fire trucks in Turkey had been able to put out the tiny blaze—more of a cheery little candle flicker, honestly—before it could get out of control). But, even though they’re headed home (basically) in one piece, everything is Less Than Brilliant.

A loud, grumbling shift twists in his belly, and Arthur frowns at the source of his displeasure: Between being rushed out of the house that morning because Mum’s alarm clock hadn’t gone off and spending all the time on the ground in Istanbul trying to help first Skip and Douglas with the airport’s safety crews and then Mr. Katirci with the luggage, he’s completely failed to eat a single meal, and it’s nearing four in the afternoon, Fitton time. He digs his hand through his pockets;  he’s already eaten the snack baggy of peanuts that Mr. Katirci hadn’t wanted, which had been less than brilliant because Mr. Katirci had thrown them at Arthur instead. On the other hand, it had meant that Arthur could eat them, which was great!

He’s pulled back from his thoughts again by another rumbling groan, and he grimaces as he sets off for the flight deck. Maybe Skip or Douglas can distract him until they got back to Fitton, and then he can get Mum to take him out for dinner. Ooh, maybe they can even try out that new Alvin and the Chipmunks themed restaurant! Except, it isn’t _called_ that, of course, because the restaurant owners don’t want to get into a lawsuit with whichever American corporation has started making Alvin and the Chipmunks movies again. At least, that’s what Mum had said when Arthur had brought it up.

Arthur grins at the thought of singing along with the squeaky voices. (Maybe they’ll even have a ball pit! It’s been _ages_ since Arthur played in a ball pit. And, while he knows he’s too tall to be allowed to join the little kids, he can at least _watch_ them play in the brightly coloured plastic pen.) Mood sufficiently raised, he steps into the flight deck and forgets why he’s come up in the first place.

“Hello, Arthur. Finally get the last of the tea stains out of the carpet?” Douglas asks as Arthur closes the door behind him.

“Oh, right! No, I completely forgot about those. I was so busy thinking about chipmunks that I got distracted. What are you up to, then?”

“Nothing nearly as exciting as thinking of squeaking, annoying rodents, I’m afraid. Well, nothing that _should_ be as exciting as all that, except when certain pilots botch a landing.”

“It was a perfectly sound strategy to deal with the situation!” Skip protests, twisting in the seat to glare at Douglas, who raises an eyebrow in return. Arthur sees that Douglas is ashamed of his snippiness, based on what he learned in that course in Ipswich—which Arthur had passed with flying colours, no less.

Face red, Martin continues, “How was I supposed to know that the—” _Gr-r-r-R-RUMBLE-r-r._ “What was that?”

“Sorry, chaps; my belly’s a bit rumbly,” Arthur explains, suddenly reminded why he’s joined the pilots. That hadn’t just been any old hunger rumble; that had sounded like a growling tiger! Well, at least, that’s what Arthur guesses, having never actually heard a live tiger. Ooh, a tiger is basically just a really big cat, right? Arthur rubs his belly, wondering whether that will sooth it like it would a kitten—or a tiger! Though, that hadn’t worked so well with the cat on the trip to Abu Dhabi. What are they talking about? Oh, right. “I haven’t eaten today.”

“What, all day?” Douglas turns his eyebrow on Arthur. “Surely you must have eaten _something_. If nothing else, you could have come out to lunch with us in Istanbul.”

Arthur shrugs. “Well, there were the peanuts that Mr. Katirci didn’t want, but I missed breakfast this morning, and I was too busy helping you two and then Mr. Katirci to stop for lunch in Istanbul, so...that’s it, yeah. But, we’ll be back in Fitton in a couple more hours, and then once I finish cleaning the plane Mum and I can go out for dinner at that new Alvin and the Chipmunks restaurant!”

Martin stares at him. “So, you’re just not going to eat until seven or eight? Arthur, I’m sorry, but that’s a terrible plan.” His voice abruptly turns lighter and prouder. “Fortunately for you, I have a better one."

“You do? Brilliant! Usually it’s Douglas who comes up with the ideas.” That’s not entirely fair, Arthur decides. Skip certainly has his moments; it’s just that his bad luck tends to ruin them.

“The _good_ ideas, certainly.”

“I have good ideas, too!”

Douglas huffs a short laugh, obviously giving up the point to Martin. Martin glares at him and turns back to Arthur. “Here, I’ve got some food in my bag. I was planning to eat it for dinner in the portacabin before getting the van ...er, before going home.” He coughs and looks away as he bends down to rummage through his carry-on. “Anyway, I think it’s clear that you need it more than I do, so here. Enjoy.” He straightens and holds out a serving of quiche for Arthur.

“Oh, wow, that’s brilliant, Skip! Except...I don’t want to take your dinner.” Then _Skip_ will be the one hungry, and that’s not fair at all!

Martin shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Arthur; I’ll just stop somewhere on the way, and _I_ at least had lunch.” He shakes the container of quiche in his hand. “Here; eat up.”

“Thanks, Skip; you’re the best! Mmm.” Arthur smacks his lips and heads straight for the microwave in the galley.  Two minutes later he is slurping down the spinachy treat back in the flight deck, wriggling in pleasure as his belly rumbles happily and accepts the delicious food.

“That explains the contents of the mysterious lunch pail you’ve been carrying lately,” Douglas says while Arthur eats. “Though, I have to ask: Why quiche? I’d have thought just the sight of it would make you sick, after watching Arthur here gobble down twelve of them last month in Ipswich.” He glances at Arthur. “It’s certainly making me a bit nauseated.”

Martin shrugs, watching as Arthur devours the quiche. A few bits fly onto Arthur’s shirt collar in his enthusiasm. “As I said, there’s nothing wrong with quiche in moderation. Speaking of which, Arthur, you might want to slow down a bit before you choke.”

“Dnf wrrspee skahpf; hyfvmph—”

“Yes, thank you for that educational display of half-masticated quiche,” Douglas interrupts, face twisting a bit. “Perhaps you’d like to repeat yourself in clear English?”

What’s so difficult about understanding what Arthur’s saying? He thinks he’s been quite clear. And, honestly, ‘masticated quiche?’ There’s no need to be _rude_ ; Mum used to tell him that those kinds of topics aren’t polite in public. He shakes his head and moves on. “I said, ‘Don’t worry, Skip; I’ve perfected the art of eating a lot of food in a little time.’” It had come in useful throughout the years, after all. “Anyway, thanks for the quiche! Now I’ll have no problem holding out until Mum and I go out for dinner.” Ooh, and Skip is planning to go out for dinner, too. “Maybe Mum and I will even see you there!”

“Perhaps you should bring a camera and take pictures of our esteemed captain, if that’s the case,” Douglas says. “Maybe even one or two with the mascot?” Arthur bounces on his feet and grins, thinking of how much fun they’ll have. Hey, Skip is a fair bit shorter than Arthur; maybe he will be able to play in the ball pits?

Martin turns to Douglas and glares again. “Shut up, Douglas.”

In the end, it’s with a less-empty belly and brighter spirits that Arthur returns to the cabin with a vow to return the favour as soon as he can. He makes sure to bring an extra ham sandwich along on the next week’s flight, which he proudly gives to Skip. The sandwich, not the flight. It would just be silly to give Skip a flight, wouldn’t it? Especially when Skip is already the pilot!

 

* * *

 

Arthur hums a happy little tune at Skip’s shoulder as they walk through the airport terminals in Baton Rouge. It’s been a pleasant flight, all things considered, and soon they’ll be on their way back to Fitton, where Arthur plans to plead with his Mum to let him borrow her car for his date tonight with Missy. It’ll be their third one, and as far as Arthur is concerned, Missy is _brilliant_. She’s even spotted more Yellow Cars than him on their last date! 

As they pass the last terminal before they’ll need to turn off for GERTI, Skip slows, attention drawn off to the side. Arthur follows his stare and notices a lady crying in one of the chairs. “I wonder what’s wrong,” Martin says, turning to walk over. Arthur follows.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Martin says as he comes to a stop in front of her. “Is everything alright?”

“No, everything is _not_ alright!” Her voice is all croaky and warped, kind of like the spoon Arthur had accidentally left on the radiator for a week. “My flight is delayed, my luggage and my purse are on a different plane, I have no food and no money to _buy_ food, and I’m _eight months pregnant_.” Now that she mentions it, she does have a rather large lump around her midsection. “I just want to get back home!” She bursts into tears again.

Arthur steps forward, knowing when his particular brand of helpfulness is needed. “Well, Miss, while I’m sure the staff here at the airport are doing everything in their power to be of assistance to yourself in this time of unhappiness for you, I would like to offer myself up to you—but not like in a sacrifice. That would be unpleasant. Anyway, it would be to my greatest pleasure to be being in yourself’s service should yourself need anything served to yourself, though it is to my regret to inform yourself that myself is not currently at this time authorised to offer you anything of monetary value because Mum has my wallet. However, within the limitations of not buying yourself anything, it would be myself’s pleasure to serve yourself in whatever way I can until such point as we have to leave for GERTI. Oh, and my name’s Arthur Shappey.”

She stares at him, mouth slightly open, and Arthur feels a burst of pride at having put the woman at ease. Before she can respond (to shower him in thanks, he’s sure), Skip nudges Arthur to the side and sets the lunch pail he always carries with him now on the ground.

“Er, don’t mind him,” Martin says, glancing toward Arthur. Arthur turns to see who Skip is talking about, but doesn’t see anyone behind him. Shrugging, he turns back. “He can get a bit overzealous when it comes to helping people. N-N-Not that it’s a bad thing, really, but...” He clears his throat, and the lady’s mouth closes as she gives him her attention. “Anyway, I-I have some extra food with me, as it turns out, and while I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything else, you can have my quiche. I-If you want it, of course; I know it’s not to everyone’s taste, but I bet there’s a microwave in the passenger’s lounge.”

She’s shaking her head before he finishes talking, and she smiles, which Arthur finds a bit puzzling. Why would she be showing positive body language markers at the same time as negative ones? That’s just confusing! “No, no; I love quiche.” Ah. That explains the contradicting markers. “Though, I think I would eat cardboard at this point, if it came to it. Thank you, er, Captain, is it?”

“No, I’m the—oh. Yes. C-Captain Crieff, at your service! Here you are.” He pulls out the quiche from his pail and hands it over, and even Arthur can clearly perceive that the lady is calmed and happy again. “And, while I wish you the best of luck on your trip, we really must be going or we’ll miss our time slot. Arthur?”

Taking his cue, Arthur steps forward again. “It has been our pleasure to be being of assistance to yourself today, and I sincerely hope tha-ack!” He stumbles as Skip catches his arm and starts pulling him away.

“Not what I meant!” Martin mutters, and Arthur gives a cheery wave at the lady watching them with wide eyes over the quiche before turning to walk with Skip.

Helping people is brilliant! However...a memory sparks in Arthur’s mind, and he turns to Skip. “You gave that lady quiche.”

“Yes, well spotted. She needed it more than I did.” Skip walks a little faster, even though Arthur figures they have plenty of time to get to GERTI, though perhaps Skip is just really eager to be back on the aeroplane. Arthur can understand that feeling; GERTI is his third-favourite place in the world, right after the crazy-golf course and the custard shop, even if GERTI does move around an awful lot for being a favourite _place_. Still, there’s something wrong with what’s just happened

“Yeah, but you gave _me_ quiche during that flight last week, too.” And, as much as Arthur likes quiche and all sorts of food in general, even he wouldn’t carry around extra quiche constantly.

“I just happen to have a lot of spare quiche at home, and I don’t mind giving it away to people who might need it more than me,” Martin says, grip tightening around Arthur’s arm. He speeds up again, and now Arthur’s almost jogging. There’s something wrong with the way he says it, though; his voice is tight and kind of high-pitched like it gets whenever Skip panics about something.

Arthur starts to tell him so. “According to the people-reading course in Ipswich—”

 _Ipswich_.

“Skip...” There had been a lot of quiche left over after the safety course in Ipswich, even with Arthur eating so many servings himself. And, now that Arthur thinks about it, Skip had started carrying the lunch pail a couple of trips after they’d returned from Ipswich. Arthur blinks and stares at Martin as things start to line up and come together in his head.

“Ah, would you look at that!” Martin skids to a stop in front of GERTI. “Here we are—sorry to cut you off, but I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work to do in the galley, and I must be off to do...something—Nice chatting with you see you later bye!” And he’s gone.

Arthur watches Skip climb into GERTI, and his smile slips slightly.

 

* * *

 

Martin doesn’t let Arthur bring up the quiche for the rest of the flight, and eventually the whole thing drifts from Arthur’s mind. He finally gets to go to the Alvin and the Chipmunks restaurant, though with Missy instead of Mum, and it’s brilliant how she can imitate the voices! Arthur begs song after song out of her, and they’re both warbling along to _The Christmas Song_ when they leave. 

MJN runs several more trips with GERTI, travelling to the Continent, Asia, and even New Zealand, which Arthur finds to be slightly disappointing because there aren’t nearly as many kiwifruits scattered around the airport as he’s been led to expect. Isn’t New Zealand the homeland of kiwis? Douglas tells him that the kiwifruit actually originates from China and that it isn’t in season, anyway, and Arthur hopes they’ll have another trip back when the kiwifruit _is_ in bloom.

On the whole, life continues as normal.

This particular day, Skip’s van is in the shop, and he asks Arthur to give him a ride back to his flat until it’s ready for pick-up. Arthur is glad to help—he even suggests that they just stay at Arthur’s house until it’s ready, but Skip goes a funny sort of greyish-green colour and turns that option down. However, Skip _does_ invite Arthur to stay, even if he seems to be talking really slowly when he does so, but he admits that it would be silly for Arthur to drive home and then back to pick Skip up again, so Arthur is plenty cheery when they step out of his car and up to Skip’s front door. The building is a couple of storeys tall, and someone else is in the kitchen when they walk inside.

“No, no, no, no, _no!_ Argh, that’s ruined, then.” A boy, several years younger than Arthur, even, throws his hands up in the air and turns away from a boiling pot on the burner. “Oh, hello, Martin. And...Martin’s friend.”

“Hi, Tanner.” Martin shifts his weight from foot to foot beside Arthur and gestures as he makes introductions. “Arthur, this is Tanner, one of the other tenants. Tanner, this is Arthur, one of my co-workers.”

Tanner just nods in greeting, but Arthur crosses the kitchen to look into the pot. “Ooh, were you trying to make Surprising Rice? I think you’ve added the vinegar and maple syrup a little too soon, and possibly in the wrong order. They’re supposed to come after the powdered sugar and egg yolks, you know.”

“It’s supposed to be spaghetti.”

“Oh.” Arthur considers it for a few minutes. “It doesn’t look much like spaghetti at all.”

“Now you know how we feel,” Skip mutters behind him, but Arthur hears him step forward to peer down into the pot beside him. “Wow. That, um. Really doesn’t look like spaghetti. What did you do to it?”

Tanner sighs and rubs his hands through his hair. “No idea, but I don’t have time to start over without being late to class. I guess I could just get by on a snack and eat in a few hours...”

Martin smiles and backs away from the pot, pulling Arthur with him. “Well, Tanner, it’s your lucky day! It just so happens that I have some spare quiche in the freezer, which you can heat up in no time at all.” Arthur blinks. Right, the quiche! Wait, Skip still has extra quiche, even after all this time?

“Oh, that would be great,” Tanner breathes. “Thanks, Martin; you’re a life-saver.” Skip has still been carrying his lunch pail all the time, which means that he must still be carrying the quiche from Ipswich. Does quiche even last that long? Oh, right; Skip has it in the freezer. Even so, that trip to Ipswich had been _months_ ago, and that’s a long time to constantly be eating quiche. Arthur’s fine with eating a lot of the same food at a time, but eating the same food for a lot of time isn’t fun at all.

“Don’t worry about it.” Martin lets go of Arthur at the edge of the kitchen and goes back in to get the quiche from the large freezer shoved in the corner of the kitchen. “Tell you what: I’ll even make it for you if you clear off that burner and the...whatever-it-is in the pot.” However, even if Skip has been bringing quiche with him a lot, Arthur remembers him giving it away to that lady at the airport and to Arthur during one of their flights. So, maybe he hasn’t been eating it himself all the time -- giving it away instead -- but why would he have it at all it if he isn’t planning to eat it?

Tanner blushes a little as he looks at the side of the kitchen that has the sink and the burners. “Right. I’ll, er, just clean up some of these dishes while I’m at it, shall I?” Arthur looks up and sees a huge pile of dirty plates, bowls and cups one either side of the sink. They must have just had a party!

“The mountain on the left would be a good start,” Martin says. He looks over his shoulder. “Arthur, are you alright? You haven’t said anything in a while. And, while I’d usually call that a blessing, it isn’t like you.”

“Hm? Oh, no; I’m fine. Just thinking.” Arthur grins, but Martin doesn’t look reassured.

In fact, Arthur thinks he mutters, “That’s what I’m afraid of.” But, Tanner’s just started cleaning out the remains of the spaghetti or Surprising Rice or whatever he’d been making, and Skip’s voice is muffled

Later, Arthur drops Skip off at his van with a cheery grin and no outward sign of his thoughts (at least, he’s pretty sure he caught them all—the speculative look had nearly made it through, but as an expert on reading people Arthur is confident that Skip can’t read anything from him), but Skip is still tense and oddly abrupt with him when he leaves.

 

* * *

 

When he gets home, Arthur shuts himself in his room and thinks about what he’s figured out. 

Skip has been carrying quiche with him ever since that training course in Ipswich, where they had way too much quiche. Somehow, eating that quiche—even though it was only one slice, for Skip—must have made him get a craving for quiche so that he keeps buying it. Except, Arthur knows that Mum doesn’t pay Skip, which means he probably wouldn’t have the money to buy that much quiche, even spread out over this long a time. Arthur knows this because Mum’s sent him out to do the shopping once or twice since they went to Ipswich, and he’s seen how much the quiche costs as he passes it in the aisles.

So, if Skip doesn’t have enough money to _buy_ all that quiche, he must be getting it illegally. Normally, the next logical conclusion would be that Skip is stealing it, but Arthur knows that his Skipper would never stoop that low, no matter how much he might be craving quiche! So, there must be some sort of blackmail involved. A shiver slides down Arthur’s spine, and his eyes widen. That must be what’s going on! It makes perfect sense of all the clues: Why Skip is so uncomfortable with Arthur bringing it up, why he keeps trying to give the quiche away—of course he isn’t craving it; he’s being forced to take it by the blackmailers, but then he needs to find a way to get rid of it!

But, why did this all start after Ipswich, then? Unless... Arthur gasps, horrified, as he makes the connections. Dr. Duncan! It has to be him, or maybe Mr. Sergeant. Anyway, one of them must have drawn Skip into the blackmailing scheme while they were there, and Skip’s been trapped ever since. They must have sworn him to silence, explaining why he hasn’t gone to anyone for help.

That settles it, then. Arthur draws himself up and sets his shoulders, smile falling from his face in favour of a protective glower that’s quite fierce, if he says so himself. It’s down to Arthur to save his Skipper from the evil Dr. Duncan (or Mr. Sergeant, but Arthur is inclined to think it’s Dr. Duncan. ‘Evil Dr. Duncan’ just sounds better than ‘Evil Mr. Sergeant.’). He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and does what needs to be done.

_“Mum!”_

 

* * *

 

Arthur explains everything to Mum, and at the end she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Arthur, dear, let me see if I’ve got this right. You believe that Dr. Duncan—” Arthur mentally adds the ‘Evil’ to the beginning of his name “—is blackmailing Martin through some nefarious means, unknown, in order to make him take in excessive loads of quiche, which Martin is then passing on to random people. Correct? 

Basically, yes, though there’s one sticking point. “That depends. What does nefarious mean?”

“Sneaky and evil. Much like the smuggling schemes Douglas thinks I don’t know about.”

That sounds close enough to Arthur. “I think so, then. Yes.” He bounces on his toes, wondering why they aren’t already going to Skip’s rescue. Isn’t time of the essence in these kinds of things? Although, if that’s the case, it might be a problem, seeing how Skip has been in Evil Dr. Duncan’s clutches for far too long already.

“Right. Well, this should be fun.” Mum sits down at the table, and Arthur can only stare at her. _Fun?!_ Does she not realise how _important_ this is? Skip’s life could be in danger! “Let’s start with this: Martin isn’t being blackmailed.”

“What? Of course he is! That’s the only explanation!”

“For someone with your consumption of ridiculous espionage movies, perhaps; for those of us who are even remotely realistic, however, it’s far from the only explanation. Why would Dr. Duncan want to blackmail Martin into carting around quiche in the first place? What’s the point of it?” She motions for Arthur to sit, but he refuses and gapes at her.

“Well, he’s evil!” Arthur sputters. “He doesn’t have to _have_ a reason.”

“God forbid people have motives in your little fantasy world,” Mum mutters. “Alright, how’s this: I’ll talk to Martin tomorrow before the flight to Shanghai and make sure he’s not in danger of being blackmailed by instructors for SEP courses, even though it’ll probably mean sitting through another of his rants about safety procedures. Satisfied?”

Arthur shakes his head frantically. He can’t believe his mum would nearly make such a terrible mistake! “You can’t go and talk to him about it; Evil Dr. Duncan’s probably spying on him to make sure he doesn’t tell anyone! Mum, you could put Skip in serious danger like that.”

“Fine! Fine. What would you have me do, then?” Mum glares at him, and Arthur can tell by the four—no, five—markers of Mum’s posture that she’s not going to cooperate.

He slumps. “I don’t know; _something,"_ he whinges desperately. After a few more minutes of this, Arthur gives up and begs his mum to forget he said anything and to not interfere. There’s no telling what terrible things she could cause for Skip if she handles it badly.

No, this situation calls for finesse and a gentle touch, as a certain co-pilot on GERTI might say.

 

* * *

 

“Here you are, Douglas. Tea!” Arthur sets the mug down on Douglas’s desk and places the carefully coded note next to it, making sure to subtly draw his attention to it. 

“What are you doing, Arthur?” Martin calls from across the room. He even looks run-down from all the stress when Arthur looks: There are shadows under his eyes, and his forehead is creased. Arthur winces in sympathy, but then Skip tilts his head, and the shadows and lines disappear now that he’s not caught under the bad lighting. Still, it’s obvious that he’s suffering, and Arthur hopes that this plan will be enough to free Skip from Evil Dr. Duncan’s evil clutches.

For now, though, best to keep any malicious ears from hearing anything. “Nothing, Skip!” Arthur raises his voice a little, so that any bugs on or near Skip will pick it up. There’s a very suspicious fly on the wall above Skip’s head, and who knows who it’s loyal to? “Just giving the first officer, Douglas, his tea. On the other side of the room. No cause for suspicion here, nope! I’ll be on my way, now, doing...er, unsuspicious things in the storage room.” With a last inconspicuous nudge at the note that nearly tears it in half and almost sends it flying off the desk, Arthur steps out and flattens himself against the wall to listen in. If Douglas is unable to keep his horror or curiosity in check before he talks to Arthur, he’ll need to be ready to interfere. Skip’s life could depend on it!

To his relief, there’s silence for several minutes as both pilots go back to their tasks. Eventually, though, Douglas speaks. “I don’t suppose you’ve any idea who ‘Dr. Claw’ is and what Arthur thinks he has to do with pie?”

Arthur bites his tongue. Douglas clearly doesn’t understand the coding in the note, and he’s fishing for information. With luck, hopefully Skip won’t realise what it means, either, and Arthur will have a second chance to get Douglas on his side.

“Mmm, no. Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry,” Martin says. “What does the rest of the note say?”

“‘Lou, Lou, to my Lou: Dr. Claw is giving him green pie, but he doesn’t want it. Pass it on.’ But, there’s a line in parentheses after that: ‘Don’t actually pass it on: TOP SECRET.’” There’s a rustle of paper and fabric, and Arthur frowns. He’d specifically told Douglas to _not_ pass it on! “He’s making even less sense than usual, which is saying something.”

That’s not fair! The note makes perfect sense: Lou, Lou, _Skip_ to my Lou; Dr. Claw is the evil genius from Inspector Gadget (and he’s an evil doctor, too, just like Evil Dr. Duncan); green pie is a perfect way to describe quiche; and passing it on is what Skip is forced to do! Arthur pouts. It’s a simple code, and he’s disappointed that Douglas can’t figure it out.

“No idea,” Martin agrees, so at least there’s that. “You can ask him when he gets back, I suppose.”

The only problem with that is that Skip is with Douglas in the portacabin for the next half hour, and Arthur only barely manages to catch Mum before she’s about to bring up the quiche with Skip. Finally, though, Skip does the walk-around for GERTI, and Arthur takes advantage of the moment to catch Douglas alone.

“Ah, there you are, Arthur. I was wondering if you weren’t flying with us today, considering how little I’ve seen of you.” Douglas rolls his shoulders in the co-pilot’s seat, and Arthur closes the flight deck door behind him.

“Douglas, there’s something really serious I need to talk to you about,” Arthur begins. “It’s about Skip.” He outlines everything he’s discovered and finishes with, “Mum didn’t believe me, but Skip’s in trouble! We have to help him!”

“Right you are, Arthur,” Douglas agrees, and Arthur sags with relief. “In fact, why don’t you leave everything to me.”

Arthur’s a little put-out with being left out, but he has to admit that if anyone can figure out how to get Skip out of this safely, it’ll be Douglas. He agrees, and not a moment too soon: As soon as the words leave his mouth, Skip opens the flight deck door.

“Done with the walk-around—oh. Hello, Arthur; I didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything’s great! Nothing wrong, not at all, not with me...I’ll just, ah, go and sort out the galley. Thanks, Douglas! Good luck, Skip!” Not wanting to give Skip a chance to get suspicious, Arthur escapes.

Everything will be fine, now. Douglas always fixes these kinds of problems. Well, not the kinds of problems where the captain of their airline is trapped in a quiche-centred blackmailing scheme from an evil instructor for SEP courses in Ipswich, but it’s close enough, right?

 

* * *

 

Douglas doesn’t fix the problem. 

At least, not the way _Arthur_ is expecting it to be fixed—mainly because, as Skip explains to him later, there never was a problem to begin with. “I’m not being blackmailed, Arthur, though I appreciate the lengths you went to in trying to keep me safe,” he tells Arthur in the Duty Free of the airport in Shanghai, where they’re looking for Toblerones. Well, Arthur is looking for Toblerones; Skip is mostly just walking with him and talking to him with a kind of pinched look on his face.

“But, if you aren’t being blackmailed, why did you have so many quiches that you were giving away?” That’s the part that just doesn’t make sense. It _has_ to be a blackmail scheme!

Martin sighs and fidgets with the hem on his jacket. “You remember when we went to Ipswich for that safety training?” he asks.

Arthur nods his head because of _course_ he does. That’s where this whole thing started! “Yeah; that’s where Evil Dr. Duncan first started blackmailing you!”

“Dr. Duncan is a perfectly lovely man. In fact, he’s the one who gave me all that quiche—”

“I knew it!”

 _“—when I asked for it._ You remember how they accidentally over-ordered, and there was all that extra quiche left over?”

“Right, I do remember that.” Arthur looks up and tilts his head. “What’s that got to do with your situation, though?”

“Everything!” Martin throws his hands up in the air, almost knocking over a rack of magazines. “It’s got everything to do with it! I convinced Dr. Duncan to let me take home the remaining quiches because...well, you know about how much your mum pays me to fly.”

“She _doesn’t_ pay you to fly.”

Martin lets out a frustrated sound. “Yes, thank you. So, when there was an opportunity for a few months’ worth of free food, I took it. Dr. Duncan didn’t blackmail me into anything; I took home the quiche myself and put it in the freezer. The only problem is...well, the problem is that quiche gets _really old_ after a while, and I didn’t want to be stuck eating nothing but quiche for months on end, so I started giving it away to get rid of it.”

Something still isn’t adding up. “But, Skip, why did you keep it a secret if you aren’t being blackmailed?” He remembers how Skip had hurried them along after giving quiche to that pregnant woman in Baton Rouge, when Arthur had first started piecing everything together.

It makes Martin pause, and he kind of slumps a bit. “I just...it’s a bit foolish, isn’t it? Taking all that quiche home to eat – needing to _ask_ for food in the first place – and then giving so much of it away because it’s too much. I felt—I feel like an idiot. I didn’t want Douglas to know because I knew he would tease me about it, and I couldn’t tell you because...well, I didn’t want Douglas to know. Not that it matters anymore, seeing how he’s figured it all out with what you _did_ tell him.” He sighs and looks at Arthur. “But, that’s the whole story; that’s why I’ve been carrying around quiche. _Not_ because of some blackmailing scheme. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Arthur says tentatively as he wraps his brain around it. “Only, why would I have to speak in code around you if you weren’t being blackmailed?”

“You didn’t! You didn’t have to speak in code around me because I’m _not_ being blackmailed! Honestly, Arthur, is it that hard to grasp?”

“Oh,” Arthur gasps as everything finally _clicks_. “Oh! I get it, now! You’re saying that you did everything under your own will!”

_“Yes.”_

“Well, that’s settled, then!” Arthur beams at Skip, who blinks at him in return, eyes wide. “I’m glad you’re not being blackmailed, Skip.” Ah, and there’s the Toblerone he’s been looking for! Arthur grabs it and heads for the cashier, Skip trailing behind him.

“Me...too,” Martin says. “Thank you.”

Everything is _Brilliant_. 

 

* * *

 

 

Skip keeps carrying his lunch pail with him after that, and every so often Arthur notices him giving quiche to some person or another while they’re on trips. He even gives some to Douglas, once, which means that Skip teases Douglas about forgetting his wallet and Douglas stops teasing Skip about “biting off more than he can chew.” Which doesn’t make sense because Skip takes smaller bites than even Arthur, who doesn’t have a problem with chewing...but then, Douglas often says things that don’t make sense. 

Time passes; they start booking more flights, and as winter comes around, Mum tells Arthur that she’s going to start paying Skip. And then, a few days after Skip finally stops carrying around the lunch pail, he shows up in the portacabin with news that he’s moving to a different flat, closer to the airfield, and he asks them to join him in a flat-warming party. Arthur is disappointed to hear that there won’t be a bounce house _or_ a ball pit, but Skip says it’ll be a kind of pot-luck, which sounds like a fun game until Mum explains it to him.

When Arthur and Mum arrive, store-bought lo mein in hand, there’s already a small crowd of younger people in the front room. “Students from the old flat; they helped me move in,” Skip explains, leading them to the kitchen, where there are already several whole quiches laid out. A shout from the front room draws his attention, and Skip leaves them in order to talk to the students.

Douglas is waiting for them beside a casserole with a glass of some sort of amber liquid in hand. That is, Douglas is holding the glass; the casserole isn’t holding the glass because the casserole doesn’t have hands. Also, it might not like the taste of apple juice. “I suppose I should have asked this _before_ we arrived for a pot-luck meal,” Douglas says, “but Arthur didn’t cook your contribution, did he?”

“Hey!” Arthur protests. His cooking is great!

“Of course not,” Mum says. “I’ve no more desire to get food-poisoning than you do.” She motions for Arthur to set down the lo mein and gestures at the other food. “I suppose Martin’s trying to load off the rest of his quiche on us in one fell swoop?”

“That was my guess, too, actually,” Douglas admits, “but he told me that he finished off the last of the quiche a week ago, and the only thing he provided was the lasagne. Apparently, his old flatmates are convinced that he loves quiche, seeing how he so frequently had it, and so they each brought a different flavour.”

Arthur inspects the quiches while Mum chuckles. Douglas is right; they _are_ all different flavours! Mum, meanwhile, is barely containing her laughter. “You mean to say—you’re telling me that after Martin _finally_ rid himself of all that quiche, silly man, now he’s got another six whole pies to get through?”

“It is a cruelly ironic twist of fate, isn’t it?” Douglas agrees. “And yet, I remain entirely unsurprised that Martin would be the victim of such a quiche-tionable series of events.” They all groan at the horrible pun while Arthur wanders the rooms.

It’s a nice flat, he thinks; definitely better than Skip’s old place, and Skip seems really happy joking with the students, even when Douglas and Mum join the conversation and tease him about the quiche. And, really; what’s wrong with having a lot of quiche? Maybe Skip will end up giving most of it away again to whoever needs it most, but that’s the brilliant part because—as Arthur knows very well—helping other people is great! _Especially_ when Skip’s not being blackmailed by Evil Dr. Duncan to do it. He smiles, thinking that this is a nearly perfect moment.

If only there were a bounce house.


End file.
